That's How You Know
by hairsprayheart
Summary: Robert Philip has never been very romantic, but when he finally lets himself fall for Giselle, he knows just how to tell her.
1. Yellow Flowers

**That's How You Know**

Chapter One: Yellow Flowers

_Well, does he leave a little note to tell you you are on his mind? _

_Send you yellow flowers when the sky is gray – heyeyey… _

_He'll find a new way to show you, a little bit every day – _

_That's how you know, that's how you know_

_He's your love_

Robert was hunched over his desk, listening – though not at all wholeheartedly – to a divorcing couple argue. He pretended to be scribbling notes, but was in fact doodling – little flowers, to be precise.

A quick glance out the window revealed gloomy skies. He smiled slightly at the weather's aptitude to match his mood.

_I don't want to be here_, he thought, a million times.

He turned back to the couple. He had used to enjoy his work. Ever since his wife had left, there was a feeling of victory that thrilled through him every time he won a case. For a while, it had consoled him – every time he won, it was like winning a battle of some sort between him and his (ex) wife. He told himself that she had just _left_ him (as opposed to divorcing him) because she was too scared to face _him_ in court. But he didn't really believe it. And as for work? His heart just wasn't in it anymore. Ever since meeting Giselle, the idea of helping to split people up seemed wrong.

"Why are you two divorcing, exactly?" he asked, trying not to sound annoyed.

His client looked at him mournfully.

"She says I don't communicate."

Robert's face brightened.

"These cases are the easiest to fix—"

"Fix? I came here so I could get a divorce," the woman snorted. "We've already tried all the counseling."

Robert frowned. "It takes two people to get a divorce."

"That's why we're here, Mr. Philip," the other lawyer snapped. "Now can we please get on with the asset division?"

"Wait," Robert's client said. His eyes were frantic. "You're right."

Robert waved his hand in a go-on gesture.

"I don't want to get a divorce."

"Sure seems like it to me,' his soon-to-be-ex wife retorted. "You never once told me you loved me."

"I never knew what to say," the man said softly. "But I do."

"You do?"

Her lawyer rolled his eyes. "Saying that isn't going to fix everything—"

"I'm sorry, everyone," the woman said. "But I guess we're staying together, after all."

"Oh, please. This doesn't just _happen_…"

The couple stood to leave. "Apparently, it does."

"Come back when he overcooks the pasta," the lawyer grumbled.

As they left, Robert smiled with satisfaction.

When they were out of sight, the other lawyer's professionalism went with them.

"You can't do that!" he cried indignantly, rising. "You just ruined my case. If you don't want people to get divorced, get a new job. At least, instead of ruining other people's."

He stormed out and Sam appeared in the doorway.

"Anything I can do?"

"You're the greatest secretary in the world, Sam," Robert sighed, closing his flower-filled notebook.

"I know," she teased. "So what do you want?"

He feigned innocence.

"Just to have a card delivered to Andalasia Fashions a.s.a.p."

"Oh, all right," Sam said, relenting.

Reaching for a sheet of card stock, he fingered his company's emblem before clicking his pen and jotting down a few words.

He folded the paper neatly and stuffed it into an envelope, then handed it to Sam.

"You're a saint," he told her.

"Uh-huh."

Robert hastily pulled on his coat. He had to hurry if he was going to get to Giselle's store at the same time as the note.

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"Delivery for Miss Giselle… just Miss Giselle," the deliveryman said finally, seeing as there was no last name on the envelope.

"A delivery? For me?"

Giselle scrambled down the ladder she had been standing on, knocking various bolts of fabric off the shelves she was organizing.

"Thank you so very much," she beamed, taking the note. "Please do come back!"

The man made a face as if he wasn't planning on it.

" 'Giselle,' " she read aloud. " 'Meet me in front of your building when you get this. Robert.' "

A _ding_ warned Giselle of a customer waiting outside.

"Oh my," she said excitedly. "That's him!"

A squirrel who was cutting fabric (with his teeth, of course) nearby nodded his agreement. He and the other animals ran after Giselle towards the front door.

"Thank God," Robert said as she opened it.

"You're all wet," Giselle observed sadly. She looked down and gasped.

In one hand, Robert held an umbrella, and in the other, a bouquet of bright yellow daisies that popped in contrast to the gray sky.

"Sorry," he said, stepping over the animals at Giselle's feet so he could get in out of the rain. He set the flowers on a table. "It's not very original, I know. But I remembered your song, and I—"

Giselle threw her arms around Robert's neck.

"I love them," she said, pulling away so she could bury her nose in the sweet-smelling petals.

"Oh. Ah…"

Looking away, Robert realized that hugging Giselle had made the cottony white dress she had worn that day very wet – and very see-through.

"Here," he mumbled gruffly, handing her his coat. "I don't want you to get cold."

_Or stolen by some pervert_, he added silently.

"Thank you. I love you," Giselle chirped, as easily as if she had just noted that his hair was black.

Robert blinked, shook his head quickly, and followed her out into the rain with the umbrella. The daisies bounced brightly in her hands as they walked. They got into a taxi together and Giselle flashed him a grateful smile when he opened her door for her.

So this was what it was like to be in love. Now he knew.


	2. Music's Power

**That's How You Know**

Music's Power

_Well, does he take you out dancing, just so he can hold you close? _

_Dedicate a song with words meant just for you, ooo-ooo… _

_He'll find his own way to tell you, with the little things he'll do!_

_That's how you know, that's how you know…_

_He's your love… he's your love…_

"T.G.I.F.," Morgan sighed, flopping onto the couch as the trio arrived home.

Giselle, still holding the flowers, looked at Robert quizzically.

"She's saying she's glad it's the weekend," he explained. "You know – Thank God It's Friday." He looked at his exhausted daughter. "So, how was your karate lesson?"

Morgan shrugged.

"It was fine, I guess. Just boring like always." She frowned. "Why do I have to do it?"

"Self-defense classes are very practical – especially in a city like this," Robert insisted. "Besides, you know I can't pick you up till six."

She lifted her chin defiantly, challenging: "You did today."  
"I left work early," he admitted.

"But Dad," Morgan moaned, "I don't like it there. Nobody talks me." Her eyes dropped. "I don't think anybody likes me."

Giselle's eyes widened in concern.

"Don't worry, Morgan. I'll protect you," she said, enveloping the girl in a hug.

"From what? I recall us rescuing you not too long ago… from a certain fall off a billboard," Robert reminded her. "Morgan's a big girl. She needs to learn good habits – staying with something, independence, how to make friends. It'll be good for her."

Straightening up, Giselle put on her angriest face.

"Why do you have to be so serious all the time? Morgan's just a little girl, not a… a…"

She faltered, not knowing the phrase.

"…businesswoman?" Robert guessed.

"Yes," she snapped, flustered.

Morgan, tired and bored, rolled her eyes and went off to her room, grumbling.

"Morgan is my child and I will make the decisions regarding her activities," Robert declared.

"She just wants to have fun!"

"Life isn't about just having fun, Giselle," Robert said sternly, turning to remove his wet coat and place it on the nearby rack.

"It's not just about work and money and what _you_ think is right, either!" Giselle insisted, sounding more upset than mad. "Robert, she's only eight. And she won't be for long."

Robert froze.

"Does she know you love her, Robert?"

"What?"

Giselle heaved a great sigh, like a long-suffering mother. She knew he had heard her.

"Does she?"

"Of course she does," Robert said quickly, recalling this conversation from before, about Nancy. But if was different now. Of course he loved Morgan. He loved her more than anything else in the world. He just wasn't so great at saying so.

Oh, God. That's exactly what his client at the divorce agency had said…

"Of course," he repeated, briskly. "She knows. I don't have to tell her. She knows."

Biting her lip as if unsure, Giselle looked at him patiently.

"You know," she said quietly, "my bunny friends back in Andalasia are lucky. Their mouths are very large, but their ears are even bigger. And they're the happiest creatures I know."

"We'll talk about this later," Robert said, lowering his eyes. "You should go get changed before you catch the flu."

Giselle huffed and shoved the flowers at him.

Exhaling, Robert sat down on the couch, running a hand through his hair. Being with Giselle was an emotional roller coaster. If only she hadn't discovered the feelings of anger and sadness. But he supposed excessive happiness could be just as annoying.

The longer he thought, the harder it was to be mad at Giselle. And the more invasive her song became.

She was changing in his bedroom. He crossed his leg over the other and jiggled his foot. He smiled slightly at the remembrance of their crazy day in Central Park – the whole city had sung along with her.

_That's it._

Morgan knew that she loved him. But did Giselle?

He stroked the flower's petals and set the vase on the coffee table so he could get up.

Then he cleared his throat.

"How does she know, you love her?"

His voice cracked slightly at the pause, and he cleared his throat again. He had a very nice voice, in actuality, but he didn't use it frequently, and for some reason he was sweating. Though that shouldn't have affected anything.

"How does she know, she's yours?"

He heard a distinct giggle and shied away from the open door to Morgan's bedroom. He flushed, realizing that she was listening.

"Morgan," he hissed, sneaking into the room. "I'm trying to apologize here."

"Sorry, Dad," she whispered loudly, pretending to be discreet. "I've just never heard you _sing _before…"

Robert pursed his lips and tried again.

"Well, does he take you out dancing, just so he can hold you close?"

This chorus was particularly memorable, as he was particularly opposed to it. Singing and dancing just weren't his thing. He guessed they were, now.

Giselle, in a large nightshirt of Robert's, poked her head tentatively out from behind the frame of his door.

"Robert? What are you doing?"

"Dedicate a song with words meant just for you, ooo-ooo!"

"Robert!" Giselle cried, leaping out into the hallway and taking his hands to swing him around. "You're singing! Again – again!"

Chuckling, Robert patted his throat with mock concern.

"I don't know… have to keep my voice in shape."

"C'mon, Daddy, please," Morgan begged.

"Well, we have to go somewhere for dinner, don't we?"

Giselle's face lit up.

"Let's go to the Italian place!" she cried insistently.

"No. I have something better in mind…"

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When everyone was warm and changed, Robert intended to make good on his melodious promise.

So he did.

Somehow, rather mysteriously in his opinion, the rain had stopped. Giselle was in his arms and they were on the dance floor in the middle of Central Park and they were dancing. To his surprise, it was going rather well.

Her head was on his shoulder and she was humming along to the song that was playing, even though she didn't know what it was. They were circling lazily around on the hardwood, with Morgan in sight as she danced around on her own. Both of his girls looked beautiful, Morgan in her princess dress, and Giselle in an equally beautiful and dramatic pink poofy thing of some sort. He decided not to bother explaining it to himself and just concentrated on the pattern of his feet.

"Onetwothree, onetwothree…"

"You're counting," Giselle reminded him softly.

"Sorry." He had been trying not to.

"Just let yourself sway to the music."

Robert relaxed and did as told, letting his dance partner guide him around the floor as the stars twinkled above.

"Good," Giselle murmured, snuggling closer to him in the crisp night air. She looked at him, curious, as she recognized the tune that he had begun to hum.

"That's how you know…"

"That's how you know…"


	3. Colors of the Fire

**That's How You Know**

Chapter Three: Colors of the Fire

_Because he'll wear your favorite color just so he can match your eyes, _

_Plan a private picnic by the fire's glow, oh-oh-oh… _

_His heart will be yours forever, something every day will show!_

_That's how you know, that's how you know…_

Giselle woke with a start the next morning. She was lying on the couch – as usual – with a crackling fire roaring next to her in the fire place. It was rather soothing. She knew Robert had started it for her in the middle of the night so that she wouldn't get cold.

They had arrived home pretty late the previous night, after a glorious evening of feasting and dancing. It had been wondrous. Even Robert had enjoyed himself.

Could it be that they had sung? Together?

It seemed impossible. Robert simply did not sing. And yet he had – not only once that day, but twice! And once in a duet. It seemed so fairy-tale perfect that it could not be real. He rubbed his eyes to wake himself up – as if from the dream that his life had suddenly become, maybe – and his bed seemed rather lonely, even though it had been empty for five or so years.

"Giselle?" he croaked, stumbling down the hall. He cleared his throat and saw her stretched out on the couch. "Oh, good. The fire's still going."

"Good morning," Giselle chirped, leaping from the couch in such a lively fashion it seemed as though she had been awake for hours. "I hope you had pleasant dreams."

"I did," Robert admitted, seating himself on the couch next to her. "Did you?"

"Oh, yes. Very much so."

"Sounds good."

An awkward silence ensued for a moment. Robert cleared his throat and rose again, going to the small kitchen to make himself a pot of coffee. He simply couldn't function in the morning without it. At least today he had slept in a little.

"Look at it go," Giselle murmured suddenly. Her eyes were fixated on something.

"What?"

"The fire," she clarified, as Robert returned to join her. "So many different colors. We didn't have fire in Andalasia, you know."

"You didn't?" Robert looked astounded.

"There was no need," Giselle replied simply. "It was never very cold, you see, and it was just destructive and unnecessary." She leaned back against the couch. "There are so many things about this new place that I still do not know."

"You catch on quickly," Robert assured her. "Look how much you've learned in the short time you've been here."

"That's true," Giselle decided, twiddling her thumbs absentmindedly.

"You're even running your own business."

"Dresses are so very fun to make," she beamed, thinking of her little shop.

"Well, I'm glad you've found something to do that you enjoy, _and_ make money off of." This seemed like such a pleasant trade-off compared to his increasingly undesirable job at the divorce firm.

"I suppose," Giselle said softly. "So… what shall we do today?"

It was Saturday, Robert remembered. He had the day off. No work, no chores, no obligations. He sighed with relief just thinking of this. For once, it seemed as though he had absolutely nothing he needed to do. The day stretched blissfully out in front of him like a lazy stream, bursting with possibilities.

"I don't know. What do you _want_ to do?"

"Let's see what Morgan wants to do. When she wakes up."

"All right," Robert agreed, getting up again. It was time for him to get his coffee.

"I know!" Giselle said brightly, once again distracting him from the task of waking himself up fully. "We should just stay here and have a dress-up party. Doesn't that sound fun?"

Robert barely managed to stifle a chuckle. A dress-up party? She had to be kidding.

"I have lots of dresses here that I brought home from the store to work on this weekend," she explained. "And some of them would fit Morgan. I do have a little girls' line… She'll just love it!"

"I know she would," came the mumbled reply. He just wanted to get his coffee. Two more uninterrupted steps, and…

"DAD!"

He jumped, dropping the coffeepot in the process. He grumbled under his breath and went to go see what the cause of the cry had been.

"What is it, Morgan?"

His little girl was sitting up in bed, looking out the window at a group of people circling in the square below.

"They're having a party down there," she insisted, pointing at the group.

"I see," Robert said, though he didn't believe her. They were probably just some of those odd construction people on their break. If their whole day didn't consist of one... He shook his head and went to return to the kitchen.

"We should go down and say hello," decided Giselle, in the doorway.

"I was going to make us all breakfast," Robert moaned, realizing his plans for a relaxing day at home were starting to erode.

Morgan and Giselle looked at each other.

"Breakfast does sound pretty good," Morgan said.

"I'm sure they'll be there later," Giselle agreed.

"We'll have our own party."

"So it's settled then," Robert said finally, striding out of the room. Now, he could prepare his coffee and make a nice little breakfast for everyone to share. They could eat and talk and relax in front of the fire… just like a normal family would do on a Saturday morning at home. He smiled at the thought of it.

"Robert?"

He looked up, a moment later, from the eggs he was beating to check on Giselle.

"What is it?"

Giselle looked down as if embarrassed.

"Why does the fire have so many different colors?"

What a question. Robert put the whisk down and turned to the girl. "Well, I suppose that depends on the different heats in it. The hottest flames are blue, then white, then orange, then red."

"Always?"

"Always."

Shifting, Giselle stared again into the fire.

"So, you told me that something gets hot because the particles inside move around. Whenever I'm happy, I dance around a lot, and then I get hot. So if the particles move around, they get hot too. …Does that mean they're happy?"

Might as tell it to her in a way she'd understand, right? "Sure."

"Then I'm very hot," she decided, beaming. "I'm going to wear a _blue_ dress for the party today."

Robert chuckled to himself and turned back to the eggs.

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"This is like a picnic," Morgan decided, gathered around the coffee table in a semicircle with Giselle and Robert a half-hour later. "It's fun."

"What does everybody think of the eggs?"

"They're delicious," Giselle sang, licking her lips to show her appreciation. "I can't believe we never thought of this in Andalasia."

"What _did_ you eat in Andalasia?"

Giselle frowned. It had never been much of a concern. "Berries, roots… things like that. We gathered them all day long. And flowers and honey too, of course."

"You ate flowers?" Morgan giggled.

Smiling, Giselle replied, "Of course. Very good for you."

Robert raised an eyebrow but silenced himself with a bite of his breakfast. "I hope you're all ready. I set up a very special thing for us to do today."

"Are we playing a game?" Morgan asked eagerly.

"Not quite," Robert replied gently. "You two go get your dresses on. I'll be right back."

"Ooh," Giselle whispered, hurrying Morgan into the room so they could change. "I wonder if your dad's dressing up too!"

A moment later, everyone was back in the living room, outfitted in their most special clothes. They admired each other, and Giselle gasped when she saw what Robert was wearing: a beautiful blue suit.

"Oh, Robert," she breathed, running her hand over the smooth fabric. "It's lovely. Blue is my favorite color." Her eyes sparkled, reflecting the shade of her own dress.

He smiled and looked at her outfit. "I can tell."

Their eyes met, and magic filled the air for an instant as they stared into each other's eyes – into the other's very soul.

Morgan looked from Giselle, to her dad, and back again.

"Is this going to lead to a mushy moment?"

The spell broken, Robert looked down at his daughter and tousled her hair playfully. "No, Morgan. Don't worry."

Giselle glanced away quickly, hoping the love in her heart wouldn't brim over in her eyes.


	4. Revelations and Desires

That's How You Know

**That's How You Know**

Chapter Four: Revelations and Desires

_It's not enough to take the one you love for granted…_

_ You must remind her or she'll be inclined to say – _

_ "How do I know, he loves me? How do I know, he's mine?"_

After a day of feasting and fashion, Robert had called it a day and was trying to fall asleep. But he couldn't.

The restless, hungry feeling that possessed him reminded him of the night Giselle had first fought with him. She'd touched his chest in a surprisingly intimate gesture that had sucked the air from his lungs and sent his head spinning. That was the first time he'd really… _seen _Giselle. He went cold with fear at the upheaval, but now, everything was okay.

He was at peace with Nancy. He hadn't had contact with her for a while and didn't know what had happened. But their relationship was over. And it had been empty and cold compared to what he had with Giselle.

At first, he'd tried to refrain from feeling _anything_. He convinced himself it was lust, not love. But the way he found himself smiling in her presence, along with the gradual easing of feelings for Nancy, finally made him relent.

_I love you._

He tensed. She threw the words around, but he had never once uttered them to her.

_ You got to show her you need her,_

_ Don't treat her like a mind reader…_

And he was suddenly overcome with the desire to do so.

Throwing off his covers, he stuffed his feet into his old slippers and padded into the living room. He hesitated for a moment to admire the sleeping beauty, feeling slightly apprehensive about waking her.

He stood there for a moment in the pitch black, hovering over Giselle like a nervous parent. He watched her chest rise and fall with gentle breaths. Twisting his hands together, he took a tentative step forward but halted.

One of his fingers twitched, then, as if it desired to be entwined in those red tresses. They were beginning to grow back. A sudden realization dawned upon him that change was generally uncommon in Andalasia. Hair did not need to grow – it wasn't cut. Furniture did not need to be rearranged – it was satisfactory as is. He looked upon Giselle's flawless skin, rounded eyelids, and altogether perfection; wondered briefly: _does anything ever break?_

_Her_.

He shivered at the memory of seeing her vibrance stilled, a pale and empty shell of her frozen on a couch in the grand ballroom that denied the drama unfolding within it. He recalled the apple itself, crisp, and infused with the scent of vengeance.

One night, a while ago, Morgan had woken from a nightmare and asked him what he was afraid of. He kissed her goodnight without answering, but now he could tell her: loss. Of familiarity. Of stuff. Of loved ones.

As much as he wanted to draw Giselle to him and enclose her in his arms, he couldn't shake the nagging thought that she would leave him, too.

_Don't leave me._

He drew in his breath sharply before retreating to his room. He paused to check on Morgan – his baby. His constant.

Shoulders hunched, he inched deeper and deeper within himself. The surrounding silence was oppressive.

"Daddy?"

Robert's head broke of his self-made cocoon, freed by the urge to protect the daughter with a voice that suggested vulnerability.

"What is it, Morgan?"

"I had a bad deam."

She padded over to his bed and nestled into the warm dent made by her dad's sleeping body. Suddenly, she was small again, abandoned by her mother and so desperate for love she took up sleeping next to Robert. He hadn't encouraged it, but it happened.

Some things you just can't stop.

Robert blinked and got to his feet, permitting Morgan to sleep in his bed. He gave her a kiss worthy of the gift she'd just given him.

Perhaps he could try to keep himself from loving Giselle, but he knew he couldn't.

His step was jaunty as he strode out to the living room. It wasn't that he wasn't scared – he knew he was. But he was more afraid of loss. And Giselle expected nothing less than Prince Charming to keep her around.

He stood beside her, in closer proximity than his last attempt. Suddenly overwhelmed with desire, he found himself wandering ever closer. He ran his finger lightly over her arm, tracing the pale network of veins, and sending an electric tingle up his own.

She was so beautiful. They had kissed before – during what Robert had dubbed That Night – and it had sent such euphoria through him that it had seemed forbidden.

But then he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers.

"Robert?" she mumbled, her eyes fluttering open.

His face softened at her sweet voice, and her perplexity urged him to apologize.

"Oh… ah…" he stammered. Unable to say anything intelligent, he simply took her face into his hands and kissed her again. For a moment she was rigid, but quickly relaxed.

"Robert," she said again, with more conviction.

"Hmmm?" His face was almost dreamy.

She laughed.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh. Right." He sat next to her and laced his fingers through hers. "I wanted to tell you something."

"Oh." She waited. "What?"

"Giselle, I want you to know."

"To know…"  
"To know, for sure, that's it true, that I'm yours," he breathed, meeting her eyes in the darkness. "I love you Giselle. That's what I've been trying to tell you. The flowers, the dancing, the picnic… I wanted you to know," he finished.

"Oh, Robert," she whispered. A shiver of happiness thrilled through her. "That's so beautiful." A little joyful shriek escaped her lips and she covered them quickly, still not managing to hide the giant smile there. "You used my song."

Robert sighed, the tension of _telling _gone.

"I'm so very glad you feel that way," Murmured Giselle, leaning against him as if her stability depended on his presence. "Normally, I can tell. But things are strange here – I didn't know."

"What do we do now?" he asked, softly.

"I suppose whatever it is we want to do. Together," she added, squeezing his hand.

"So what do you want to do?"

Giselle smiled brightly.

"_Everything._"

His grin flashed. Robert found himself no longer defining the possible as what he had seen happen, but what he _believed_ could happen.

"Okay."

--

After he met Giselle, Robert decided he was a morning person. Mornings were so full of promise. And each day after that night, before he went to work, he made a point of reminding Giselle of his feelings with some small token of kindness.

Robert Philip knew what love was. And he knew that it wasn't about flowers. Or dancing. Or dates. It's about the person you share it with, and loving hem so wholeheartedly that you can tell them and be sure. Because when he looked into the eyes of his true love, he'd found his happily ever after. He knew it.


End file.
